I Could Be Jafar
by Oblong features
Summary: Ryuma examines his rather sad little life in a child's cartoon and comes up with a new way of executing the plan that so miserably failed in the actual show. T for mild language. Oneshot.


**Dear Shinzo Fans,**

**I am SO sorry. This is a disgrace to Shinzo FFs everywhere. I hope you enjoy it.**

**Yours Fondly,**

**RB**

Ryuma stumbled into his castle. Another long night (and another longer day ahead). The line between hangover and drunk was about as blurred as his vision. He plopped himself down on his throne, the ice the castle was made of sending tingles up his spine. Who's idea was it to make a whole castle out of ice anyway? Jesus. Just as he was getting comfortable, his sleepy head resting on a tired hand, the main doors flew open, and there stood in all of their glory a hotheaded Enterran with the wimp and the blimp, not to mention the free-love human they were protecting.

"Ryuma, prepare for battle! You'll never destroy Yakumo, I won't let you!" the short, magenta-haired boy piped up, twirling his big golden stick. Ryuma put his elbows on his knees, resting his fuzzy blonde head in his hands.

"Cunts…" he muttered to himself, not expecting or wanting anyone to hear him. The wimp did.

"What did he say?" the bright young lad said to the fat cat. The obese feline shrugged, leaving the retrieval of the answer up to Mushra, who was the main character and thus the one who took care of everything. Before another word was said, the young, fiery boy was charging towards the ever-fierce enemy, the treacherous Ryuma. And the blondie of about the same age just sat there. He cared about the impending battle as much as Charlie Sheen cares about anything but Two and a Half Men. Mushra, screaming his war cry, raised his big golden stick and whopped Ryuma on the head with it. Ryuma still remained motionless. Mushra lifted the stick, and upon seeing the girly lord so still, became confused and bewildered—an enemy not fighting back was too abnormal for Mushra's little brain to comprehend. Ryuma began to slump. And he slumped. And slumped. And slumped. And fell to the ground in a stupor. The friends just stared. Yakumo leaped gracefully from her robotic ride and strode, as if through a meadow of daisies to the one she loved, towards Ryuma dramatically.

"Mushra! He's hurt!" said Madame Obvious, bending down to coddle the injured ruler. Turning him over to inspect the damage, she gasped at sight of Ryuma not passed out from Mushra's deadly attack, but from too much alcohol the night before. She sighed caringly, not fully realizing that alcohol could make someone do this, and simply thought Ryuma was very, very sad.

He felt something cold. Sprinkling and cold. His eyes shot open. Someone was flicking water on him. That girl from before. He groaned apathetically. Yakumo's already bright, Mary Sue eyes lit up at her evil enemy awakening healthy and happy. Aside from in the real world, he was neither healthy nor happy, but this was Yakumoland. Everyone is healthy and happy in Yakumoland. Some people call it Shinzo.

"What the…" the young royal started, looking up in confusion. He sat up and looked around, his head still spinning and no gruesome threesome to be found. He bent over and felt a soft, loving hand on his back—that of a human girl.

"Shh… it's okay. You're safe now," Yakumo said tenderly, having read the Twilight series one too many times and under the false impression that a few shush-ing noises could make everything better. Ryuma smirked in a grimace. He shook his head.

"Yeah, right. What do _you_ know?" Ryuma tried to stand, falling embarrassingly on the ice floor. Tingles went from his ass to his back again. Stupid ice palace.

"Something seems wrong… Are you alright, Lord Ryuma?" Yakumo said, glitter gushing out of every pore in her shoujo body.

"No, I'm not alright," Ryuma said bitterly. He stuck out his lower lip cutely and gazed at Yakumo with bloodshot eyes, still having a residual hangover.

"What's wrong?" Yakumo asked gleefully. Ryuma sighed.

"I'm sure you don't want to hear-," he began like a girl does when she really, really, _really_ wants to tell her male counterpart something horrible about her life to gain sympathy.

"Of course I do," Yakumo said, falling into the trap. Ryuma sighed, still pouting. He paused for a moment, gaining composure and rehearsing his monologue.

"It's just… life is so bleak. I wish I could be a good villain, one with absolutely no morals or ethical code or anything." Tears formed in his bishounen green eyes. "But… I…" He gulped. "I'm stuck in a kids show with 3 episodes to feature in. Hardly enough time to build a character, hardly enough time to show a life story of torture and heartache, hardly enough time to show the kinky stuff I'd do to you if it _wasn't_ a kids show! But no, here I am, in damn _Shinzo!_" Flood gates opened and his rosy cheeks were drenched. "I could be Hannibal Lector! I could be Orochimaru! I could be Jafar, for Christ's sake!" Ryuma shrieked to the heavens. Yakumo wrapped her forgiving, all-powerful arms around the bawling, delicate flower of a boy.

"Don't worry, Ryuma. I can help you. I'll do anything, just please, stop crying… you'll be okay." Yakumo buried her face in Ryuma's soft head. He stopped sobbing long enough to formulate a plan.

"You'll do anything?" he gasped, his little face, surrounded by the chest of what appeared to be a twelve year old boy, but was really Yakumo, was graced with an impish grin.

"Yes, anything," she said, all of a sudden sounding a lot more sexy than she should have in a "kid's show". Ryuma rose his face up, looking Yakumo in the eyes. He didn't have a hangover anymore, seeing as I, the writer, wanted him to enjoy this, and thus I took it away. He stood up, offering her his hand. She was taller, and he was breast-level, making this another rather fortunate situation, because I, the writer, decided to add a few more cup sizes to her chest so that dear Ryuma wasn't stuck with a girl with the breast size of Sakura from Naruto (not even Shippudden!).

"Yakumo, follow me," he said sleazily. Yakumo smiled and nodded like Kristen Stewart on downers. Ryuma smiled—this fic is not rated K. Fade out.

The three friends, having been somewhere else this entire time, once again bust open the doors to Ryuma's humble abode. They gasped, the most terrifying sight before their eyes: Ryuma sitting on his throne, his new bride Yakumo beside him. Mushra, with the brain of a hamster, stood there calculating the incoming information in his little head while Saago actually projected his thoughts.

"What went on here? Ryuma, what have you done to Yakumo?" Saago said, shocked.

"Yes, this is terrible! Why would you ever do such a thing?" Kutal chimed in, in his completely-un-cat-like British accent. Ryuma simply smirked.

"I've solved all of your problems, that's what I did. Now we are all happy. Saago," Ryuma gestured as the young man that must have terrible hat hair, whatever color it is, "You can get back to your life. Get back to gambling, get back to ripping off poor saps and hiring hookers and paying them in casino chips." Saago smiled, content. "Kutal…" Ryuma gazed at the rotund pussycat. "You can get back to your restaurant. Your loyal customers and your lovely nephews and niece, who all probably have the same voice actor. And me…" Ryuma peered over at the bumbling Yakumo, still stunned from the non-K activities that went on during the scene I didn't describe. "I have the girl I've always wanted—someone that doesn't yell at me when I grab her tits."

"Well, he does have a point…" Saago said to Kutal.

"And a good one at that!" Kutal said to Saago.

"I guess we'll be off then." Saago turned towards the door. Kutal followed suit.

"Yes, and thank you, my good man! Good luck with Yakumo!" Kutal exited the castle. Saago followed suit. Mushra was still processing. And he continued to process. And process. And process. Eventually he was mounted on a pedestal in the foyer of the castle, serving as a rather nice statue to greet the visitors that visited the Lord Ryuma and his well-behaved wife.


End file.
